Christ the King
Sermon preached by the Revd Olga Fabrikant-Burke
We live in a time of fear. I must admit that the last year, maybe even the last couple of years, have felt increasingly apocalyptic to me. Doom-scrolling on Twitter before going to bed probably does nothing to dissipate this apocalyptic vibe. The wretched Covid pandemic, coupled with the occasionally rather disturbing ways of fighting it, ever-increasing political tensions that are tearing us apart, sky-rocketing fuel prices, climate disasters, broken supply chains, NHS waiting lists that will not budge no matter how much money you throw at them—you name it. It is hardly surprising that fear seems to be the order of the day.
The national or international arenas are not the only places where fear runs rampant. Our everyday lives, too, are frequently ruled by fear: fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of judgement, fear of not being good enough, and fear of death. Fear enslaves us and paralyses our lives, controlling our thinking and our living, both as individuals and as communities. The rotten fruits of fear are many: perfectionism and self-sabotage, procrastination and indecisiveness, worry and anxiety, suspicion and distrust. To be sure, some of us live in fear more than others. For some of us, fear is a constant companion from which it seems impossible to escape, whereas others manage to ignore it, existing either in denial or in defiance. But one way or another, fear is an ever-present and abiding reality to all of us. Fear, it seems, is the ruler of the world.
In truth, it was ever thus. Fear is Satan’s chief weapon—and, as many theologians would submit, his only weapon. Fear is power. Power is fear. Every year brings out a different facet of the Feast of Christ the King, which we are celebrating today. In 2021 somehow it seems appropriate to reflect on Christ’s kingship in relation to fear.
To say that the authors of the book of Daniel had a first-hand knowledge of fear would be a gross understatement. Daniel was written at a time of violent persecution. The book hails from around the middle of the 2nd century BC. At the time, the Jewish community found itself under the rule of the Seleucid kings, having already been at the mercy of a succession of ruthless empires: Babylon, Media, Persia and Macedonia. Bloodshed, terror, and violence became the norm. It was particularly Antiochus IV Epiphanes who distinguished himself with his harsh campaign to impose Greek culture on Israel. Comparisons to Nazi Germany and the Holocaust are often thrown around too easily these days, but here such a comparison is surely to the point. In his attempt to Hellenise the Jews, Antiochus sought to stamp out the Jewish religion and culture: such practices and customs as circumcision, observing the Sabbath and the religious festivals, temple worship, and even possessing the Law, the Torah, were proscribed on pain of death. To top it all off, he desecrated the Temple by offering to Zeus the sacrifice of a pig on an altar in the Temple. Any rebellion was mercilessly squashed. The Books of the Maccabees tell the gruesome story.
The Book of Daniel addresses this persecuted minority. Underlying its composition is a pressing question: How does the beleaguered Jewish community cope not only with such a dire threat to life and limb, but also with what must have been an all-pervasive and oppressive sense of fear and dread? The answer Daniel offers is that God, the Ancient of Days, sits in judgement. He is watching and judging. Not a hair of the righteous sufferer falls to the ground without God taking note. Fear may seem to be the ruler of the world, but it is not. But alas, it is not yet time for God to intervene decisively and assert his sovereign rule. And yet, that day is surely coming. Hang in there. What the authors of Daniel give their audience is a hope and a vision—a vision of a restored and fearless humanity, in a rightly ordered universe, living in harmony with itself and God, without any fear.
“I saw one like a human being coming with the clouds of heaven. And he came to the Ancient One and was presented before him.” “To him was given dominion and glory and kingship, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.”
Prior to our reading, Daniel describes the wicked empires of the world as beasts, growling and fighting, their reign of terror upheld by their mighty wings and tusks, horns and iron teeth. According to Daniel, this snarling world order is coming to an end. It is restored and conquering humanity—humanity made in the image of God, the Ancient of Days—that is to be given everlasting dominion and glory and kingship, rather than the pillaging beasts who imprison humanity in fear and dread.
That day is surely coming, says Daniel, and is now here, says John. In the Gospel reading this morning, we are transported into the presence of Christ, one like a Son of Man, the representative of this restored and fearless humanity, who stood before the Ancient of Days, and now appears before Pilate. Pilate, for his part, is, of course, a slick representative of a mighty and growling beast, Rome. John the Evangelist, ever the literary artist, creates for us a scene of unexpected calm and tranquilly as Jesus faces what was the hour of his death. No trace of fear or tumult or commotion or agony is to be found anywhere on John’s canvas. Jesus is simply not afraid of Pilate. His manner is serene and calm. Nor does this Human One rule by fear or use fear to establish his kingdom. “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews.”
It is not the case that Jesus simply models for us a different kind of kingship, grounded in the power of self-giving love rather than fear and cruel oppression. Neither is it simply the case that Jesus provides us with a sure-fire roadmap for overcoming fear. No, Jesus does not merely give us new ideas to entertain or new ideals to emulate, though, of course, these flow from his life in abundance. Rather, Jesus creates and gives us a new reality to inhabit. Not only does Jesus reject fear and its powers, but he actually defeats fear and sets its prisoners free. This is what we are celebrating today. Not only the fact that Jesus is a different kind of king, different to Pilate and Rome and the stampeding beasts who came before and after them, but that he really is king—the world’s true king who has triumphed and prevailed over fear once and for all. Christianity is neither simply a new philosophy nor merely a new morality. Our faith is not palliative therapy. Christ the King frees us from the bondage to fear. He takes away the power of fear over us. He gives us courage to live by hope and by truth, not by fear. Christ the King has overcome the world, changing it forever.
Building on Daniel and John, the book of Revelation takes us one step further. “‘I am the Alpha and the Omega,’ says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” That word, the Almighty, is actually “pantokrator” in Greek. It means the all-powerful, the ruler of everything. Christ, at long last, assumes the throne that is rightfully his. It is very likely that the author of Revelation uses the term “pantokrator” advisedly, in stark contrast to “autokrator,” or the self-ruler, the self-designation favoured by the Roman Emperors. The snarling beasts stand no chance.
As another church year concludes, we are reminded that we are to live as subjects of this pantokrator, whose law is the perfect love that casts out fear. All our fears, all our anxieties, all dread and all panic are lifted up from our shoulders. All the incessant shouting from the world’s many autokrators no longer has a claim on us. We are free of the power of fear, and in the fulness of time we will enter fully into this new reality. Indeed, this new reality will flood this old order that is passing away.
But this journey towards freedom from the power of fear, the fear that imagines itself to be the ruler of the world, this pretender to the throne, begins today, even now. When you go home, have a look at the many powerful icons of Christ Pantokrator—for example, the one in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the old city of Jerusalem. And as you look at Christ Pantokrator, remember that this icon shows not only Christ’s victory over the powers of fear, but also yours. Not only his kingship, but also yours. Not only his glory, but also yours. For every benefit he has as King, Christ generously shares with us as his subjects, the first fruits and the heralds of the restored and fearless humanity. It is for our sake and for the sake of all his good creation that he wears the crown. To Christ the King, then, belong all glory, honour, and worship: now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.